


Campanaccio

by AnotherNamelessGhoul



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Cowbell is a posessive little thing, Fluff, and ghouls have no sense of boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherNamelessGhoul/pseuds/AnotherNamelessGhoul
Summary: Cowbell doesn't like when people touch his cowbell.





	Campanaccio

“What IS that?”

A small crowd had gathered around the newest edition to the church, sniffing and nuzzling and trying to get a read on the lanky new ghoul that had been led in to meet them. He held it up triumphantly before him, the brass catching glints from the overhead light. “It’s my instrument!”

A clawed hand reached out towards it. “I wanna see!”

“Yeah, let us see it! It’s shiny!”

“I wanna try it!”

He was pleased that the attention had been taken away from him, specifically, but he tightened his fingers around his cowbell and shook his head furiously. “It’s mine. You can look at it from there.”

Someone from behind his shoulder reached around and tried to snatch it, almost succeeded but lost grip at the last second. The first ghoul took the opportunity to try and grab it from the front. It was less curiosity now and more of a game; mess with the new guy and his prize. Cowbell curled his body in around his instrument, clutching it close to his chest, and keened. Hands came at him from all directions, so many hands, more people than had been in the initial circle, he thought. 

“Just let us see it!”

He took off running then, giving a first big leap to break through the gaggle surrounding him. They looked startled for a moment and then animal instinct kicked in and they all ran after him, howling. His legs were long, which gave him a distinct speed advantage, but they were closing in. He held the cowbell tighter. He came to a staircase and took them two at a time, not sure where he was going, but guessing he would figure that out as he went. Someone caught the back of his shirt and the fabric tore. He keened again, hoping that they would understand and stop, but the chase had awakened something within them, and they were determined.

He rounded a corner, fast and sharp, hoping to lose at least a few of them, and slammed headlong into something. He fell backwards, still clutching his cowbell out of the way of the fall. He glanced up and his blood went cold when he saw the familiar skull facepaint.

“Papa-”

Papa shot a look at the other ghouls that had them scattering, breathing heavily, back to their corners of the church. 

“I see you’ve made quite an impression already, hm?”


End file.
